"Let's sit in the fire light," he suggested, and switched off the electricity.
Behind his back she stole a glance at the clock, and her face fell, then grew thoughtful.
"Another hour," she said to herself, with the odd sensation of a respite.
"A cigarette first—please, Pierrot."
"What nonsense! You've smoked enough." His voice was masterful and she pouted.
"Méchant! give me one, at once."
He lit it, somewhat grudgingly, watching the flame of the match spurt and illumine her piquante face in the semi-darkness of the room.
She drew the smoke in lazily, through the pursed-up, vivid lips.
"Have one too?" She handed the box—"and tell me ... all about yourself."
"That's clever..." McTaggart smiled. "You've hit upon my favorite subject. But I think to-night we'll talk of you. Tell me"—he paused—"of your life in Algiers." Strange, how that picture haunted him!